


Do It Yourself Repairs

by koalathebear



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9197432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: A book end to episode 6.01 Fair Game.  Inspired by inchbyinch'scommentathomelandstuffthat was along the lines of working together to solve a domestic problem.  Just a quick scribble.  Unbeta'd.  Will correct mistakes as I find them.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InchByInch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InchByInch/gifts).



> It's been a week of firsts for me.
> 
> [First pic spam](http://carrie-quinn.livejournal.com/179668.html) for season 6.  
> [First pod cast](http://carrie-quinn.livejournal.com/180828.html) for season 6.  
> And now first fic for season 6 :)

_"The door to the garden's through here. The stove's on the fritz. You can use the microwave in the meantime...The bathroom's there. Just have to jiggle the handle on the toilet if it runs."_

*

At first Quinn just sits there, not bothering to turn on the light, just enjoying the relative quietness... no Reyes howling like a fucking banshee ... no squeaking of shoes on the hard floor of the hospital ... the trolley crashing into the wall when Clarence takes a corner too sharply. Instead, he can hear the sound of children playing … cars driving past … It's strangely peaceful. 

It's also nice to get the stink of the hospital out of his nostrils. The disinfectant barely masks the stench of the hospital – of the unhealthy bodies and the vets who just don’t give a damn about how they smell anymore. His nostrils twitch. Sitting in a clean room, he's suddenly painfully aware of how much _he_ stinks. Carrie's pointed direction was well-deserved. He smells like … he grimaces. He doesn't want to think about what he smells like. 

He contemplates getting the fuck out of there - just opening the door, walking out into the garden and vanishing. But then what? Deep down he knows this place is safe... and that part of him wants to stay even though another part of him recoils from the pity in Carrie's eyes, the slightly panicked look of "what the fuck am I going to do?" that gives her the look of a slightly frantic and trapped animal whenever she stares at his twisted, shuffling gait. It's almost as bad as the guilt that flickers across her face when the words that come out of his mouth are contorted and more than slightly off ... 

Sometimes he makes it seem worse than it is. Exaggerates his lurching stride, emphasises the slur in his words, his bright, almost blank stare. He pushes her … not to hurt her, but maybe to punish himself and save her. If she decides it's too much for her to take and she gets the hell out of his life, it will be the better for everyone, himself included. 

Nonetheless, he pushes himself to his feet and moves awkwardly towards the bathroom, discarding his filthy clothes and step into the shower beneath the hot spray.

*

"It's normal to feel overwhelmed by your emotions and feelings," Graham the leader of the support group intones as if he's reading from an online-self help manual. "Accept your anxiety … close your eyes …"

"Peter – please close your eyes," he repeats and Quinn manages to roll his eyes before closing them.

"That's better … focus on the right now… " Graham drops his voice in a way that he clearly thinks is calming. It's actually sleazy as all fuck. "Now take a deep breath…in …out … in … out … and when you open your eyes? I want you to take action."

Quinn zones out and stares fixedly at a patch of wall at the community centre where the paint is peeling. He's never been able to endure this sort of pop psychology mumbo jumbo bullshit at the best of times.  
When the session is over, he dumps his polystyrene cup of lukewarm coffee-flavoured water into the trash, shuffles out the door and heads over to the local hardware store and buys what he needs to fix the running toilet that, contrary to what Carrie says – runs constantly in an endless stream of noisy wastefulness no matter how much he jiggles the damned handle. 

When he gets back to the bathroom, with hands that are only slightly unsteady, he lifts the lid of the tank to the ground. The flapper isn't sealing so he shuts off the water supply valve under the toilet, flushing the toilet to drain out most of the water, and unhooking the old flapper. He hooks the flapper chain onto the flush lever arm so there’s a little slack when the flapper is closed and observes the results with grim satisfaction.

*

Microwaving his food starts pissing him off, so Quinn heads back to the hardware store to buy what he needs to repair the stove. 

The staff recognise him by now and try to make conversation, smiles remaining in place even when he glares at them and ignores their pleasantries. 

"Is it a problem with the burner or the burner socket?" the cheerful freckled young man with the name badge that reads "Phil" asks him helpfully.

"Socket is charred and burned," Quinn mutters.

"Ah, then you'll need to replace the burner socket," Phil tells him, walking with him to the relevant aisle and assisting him to pick the right parts. It's hard to remain surly with someone who's so determined to be helpful and Quinn finds himself talked into a loyalty card (with a 5% discount), a bunch of DIY home improvement pamphlets and the parts he needs to repair the stove.

"Quinn – I can pay for that … technically it's my responsibility," Carrie tries to tell him when she comes downstairs and sees him laying the parts out on the counter.

"Not necessary," he replies abruptly without looking at her.

"Don't forget to turn off the electric range," she suggests helpfully and Quinn turns around and stares at her.

"Seriously?"

"I wouldn't want you to electrocute yourself …"

Shaking his head, he turns off the power and she leans against the wall and watches him at work. Now and then his hands shake and he will stop, tighten his hand into a fist and then slowly unclench, waiting a few seconds for the tremors to subside. She doesn't offer to help, they'd probably both end up being chargrilled … Instead she lets him do what he needs to do, noting that the frown and tension leaves his body as he does his repairs.

"You know .. this is a piece of worthless crap ... I could just throw the whole thing out – buy you a new one," Quinn tells her abruptly.

"It's still good," she tells him. "Just a bit broken … but nothing's perfect," she replies.

"Wasting time try to fix it – probably just break again …"

She shrugs. "I like the fixer-uppers …they have character," she tells him lightly.

When he turns the power back on, there's a faint flicker of satisfaction inside of him as the stove heats up again.

"Good as new," Carrie announces, real pleasure in her voice.

"It'll never be what it was," he retorts harshly.

"I have hope … if it keeps trying – it'll still be damned good."

Quinn's mouth twitches. "Carrie – it's a fucking stove top…"

"Just shut up and boil some water for a cup of tea, Quinn," she orders him. 

Quinn's shakes his head and the smile twisting his mouth becomes a real one.


End file.
